The 11th Astartes
by DiscountTomasBoltun
Summary: In one fell swoop, the twenty Primarchs were scattered across the galaxy by the Dark Gods. Among one of these unfortunate souls was a boy with a special power: the Emperor's creativity... With the rest of the galaxy in turmoil, it is up to a son that the Imperium has forgotten, to fix the order of things.


**AN: I've never used FanFiction before, so I'm sorry if sometimes the formatting s** **eems wonky. Also, this story will be updated sorta slowly. This also features an OC I'll be using in other TOTALLY original works. Consider this an AU of a sort.**

Malice intervened without a thought. While the other gods of the ruinous powers had scattered the little one's brethren across the scars, the god of Paradox and Opposition had worked to place the child in a better place. It was a world called Invicta. Although it had once been prosperous, Invicta had dropped into a less advanced and warring state. Nations scrambled to preserve STCs in all forms they could. All of this was done in the hope that one day they could build the technology they knew of to take over the others. It was one this world that the 11th Primarch was dropped on.

A small container occupied a baby landed on the surface of Invicta. Guided by Malice's hand, the pod slowed to a stop on a large bank of snow. The air was freezing, but the boy inside the capsule could not comprehend such a feeling. It was only when he began to cry from natural instinct that the capsule was noticed. It was by pure fortune that a hunting party had been looking for prey nearby.

Brehardt Krigless, a hunter with more skins on his belt than he could count, raised his ear toward an unmistakable cry of a baby. Halting the rest of the group, he gathered one of his friends and went to see what the source of the noise was. "Watch your step. Some of this snow's too fresh to step in." his friend yelled. "I've been at this longer than you have you lousy shit shot!" Brehardt shouted back playfully. "Shut that hole in your face! You'll scare what ever's out there." A sickening crunch under there feet jolted both men for a second. Their heartbeats restored to normal then they realized they had stopped on some crunched metal. When they looked down they saw a child right next to their feet, crying. With haste, the two hunters grabbed the child and his metal home before running back to the rest. They knew the local Lord would want to hear of something like this.

Torrick Boltun, the figurehead Lord of Nu Muscov, looked at the child before him. "He's the queerest thing I've seen today." the Lord said smiling. "Have you any idea where he comes from?" None of the hunters who had brought the child nor servants of House Boltun had an answer to the question. Both sides pointed to the capsule, which had only the faint markings of the Imperium of Man present. "Find any reference to this symbol." the Lord commanded. "If the boy belongs to a noble family, they will surely want him back." As he spoke he felt a tug at his cloak. The little one had folded his edges into an elaborate shape and was cooing with satisfaction. Lord Boltun couldn't help but smile. "If you cannot find where he comes from. Then I shall raise him as my own. I have only grown sons and a Lady who's grown tired of having no more children to rear. This child, at the very least, may just prove to satisfy her." The room nodded in agreement, and the child was sent to stay in a guest room while servants worked to find the boy's home.

Malice looked over the sleeping child. He did not grant the newborn Primarch this boon out of love or care. He knew that the child with the Anathema's creativity would be able to work wonders for his plans. Embodying himself in the form of a spirit, he whispered into the boy's ears:

"You shall deny Nurgle their flesh to fester and rot.  
You shall deny Khorne their blood and skulls.  
You shall deny Tzeentch their destinies and fates.  
You shall deny Slaanesh their pleasure and pain.  
You shall bring death to the Dark Gods!  
You will serve me, the Renegade God!  
You will help me make the galaxy burn!"

As the child began to stir, Malice disappeared back to his unholy realm. The child would never know how he had been touched by the purist chaos.

 **Time Skip**

A year had passed since the child had been found in the snow. A search extending to three continents, a hundred kingdoms and empires, as well as a personal lordly visit to dozens of other kings and nobles, had found nothing. With little chance for the child to ever find his true home, Lord Boltun declared him his child by law. Tomas "Tom" Devin Boltun, the child was named. He would not inherit anything, but he would be given something only a few of his true brothers would have: parents. Young Tom had been granted the boon of becoming a part of a noble family. He had also been granted with abormal height, and at just four was over seven feet tall. Perhaps it was the gravity on invicta that did such a thing, but the strong forces exerting upon him had made Tom strong. He would eventually learn strength's value, for better or worse.

Although all his heart desired could be his at will, Tom's inner consciousness gave him a love for his people. He always worked to invent things that would benefit the common men. The wealth of STCs have Tom the ability to design things based on the already advanced designs. His social skills too, were without compare. When he met his adopted father's children for the first time he quickly grew into the family. To Tom, the Boltuns were the only family he would know.

With technology to work with and most of humanity's knowledge available for him to learn, Tom quickly became a master of the sciences. Quite soon Tomas was seen as one of the finest inventors in the region, and with a loyal following and a family that could send him to anywhere he wished, he marched to make the nation that had given him a home the best on the planet.

Tom had landed in one of the northernmost nations of Invicta. The nation was known as Nogodrick- the land of no hope. Tom had always found the name ironic. Here was an industrialized democracy, a nation that was running well compared to the other places in the world, and yet it had kept its insulting name from centuries ago. He had taken a long time to get used to that fact.

"Tomas" a voice called out to the now grown child. "Father." Tomas replied. "It's a pity I have to go."

"I know Tom." His father replied. "But you have a dream to make this country great. That's an honorable hope that so few before you have shared. You can't inherit anything from me because of your elders, and I can't do things as well as you. You can build and invent so many wonders that, I just... Can't imagine myself ever thinking of! You should be proud of yourself. And you should do things to give yourself a reason to stay proud. I'll miss you son. My blood or not, you're as true a Boltun as any other." Torrick hugged his adopted son before he would leave for Anheel City, the capital of Nogodrick. As a small VTOL aircraft he had designed took off, Tom glanced back at Nu Muscov and the family that had loved him.

At the same time, Malice watched over him too; waiting for the moment when he could seize his champion to slay the ones the other Dark Gods would take. The lord of anarchy had waited for a short period of time. When he had expected to wait decades, the fool had decided to leave home at just the age of five. _Vulnerable and young,_ Malice thought. _The perfect time to take him._


End file.
